Sloth
by lizziekitty
Summary: The story behind what happened to victor and why he was taken. Bad at summarys. Rated for content duh and swearing duh R&R please. 3rd se7en story here.


Victor walked into his shitbag apartment and smirked. "Home sweet home." He walked into his kitchen and looked into the cubert. No food, as usual. But he was used to it. He didn't do much shopping. Never did. Never will. But it was his norm, and he loved it. He was a lazy man. And he knew it. Never did anything for himself. But he was used to it. He was used to everything. Never did any spontaneous, never did anything he hadn't done before. The only thing different in his life (sometimes) was the people he dealt his...stuff too. He was a drug dealer. OHe was one of the best too. He'd done it for many years. Never got caught and always left his customers semi-happy. The last time he did something interesting was when he moved out his other shitbag apartment to this shitbag apartment. He'd only been there a month and he'd already victorized it. Messy, but all his stuff was good. Good furniture, good carpet and everything. Well,_ he could afford it._ He laughed aloud. All the losers who bought his drugs paid for it, really. "_Heh,_ he thought_ "If I keep going like this I'll be rich in no time. And no one will get any of it."_ He then sighed. Victor didn't have anyone. He wasn't sure if he liked that part or not. Again, he sighed. He really didn't care anyway. He wasn't a...people-person. He was the biggest anti-social on the planet. But again, he was used to it. When he was a kid he was bullied for being the only kid in the class who was underweight. He was skinny then and he was skinny now. He would give into them and they would leaver him alone. He still went by that. He'd give the users what they wanted and they'd leave him alone or come back for more. He liked them coming back but sometimes he didn't. He didn't fell guilty. No. He felt good. Getting money for doing nothing? It was the perfect job for Victor. But it was dangerous. Someone once said that he was pure scum because he was "Dealing death to kids." Whatever that meant. He'd never sold to ONE kid. They never had enough money, but if they did, that'd be a different story...

He walked into his bedroom. It was the same old room. Same old bed. Same old everything. He put his bag down and sat on his old bed. It was twin sized bed that looked like a cot. It wasn't. But he spent a lot of time in it. A LOT of time. He slept, ate, made phone calls, listened to music and a lot of other meaningless things. He'd had it a long time. He was too lazy to get another one. It's not like it mattered, anyway. He thought it was kind of funny that he had the same bed for ten years. Victor laid himself down on his bed/cot, putting his hands behind his head in a cup form, and looked at the ceiling idly. He was thinking. He noticed that he'd been doing a lot of this lately. He'd been doing a lot of strange things lately. Thinking more. About his childhood, about his mother, about his jail bait father and just generally thinking about things. Victor closed his eyes and thought to himself, "_Get up, your going to fall asleep. You already over sleep as it is." _"Oh, shut up." He spoke aloud. That was the last thing he said before drifting into sleep.

_Bring, Bring! Bring, Bring!_ The phone was ringing in Victors ears. He groaned and turned over to see his clock. 3:34. He'd been asleep for a good 3 hours. Victor propped himself up on his elbows and reached for the phone. It was so fucking annoying when people called his house. Most of them were just junkies and hookers looking for a fix. _Bring, Bring! Bring, Bring!_ Victor got annoyed even more. He turned over and curled himself in a ball, trying to go back to sleep. And then it stopped ringing. He smiled to himself. Victor closed his eyes and pulled his covers up, curling them into a small ball by his hands. It was an old bed but...it was fucking comfortable. He felt himself slowly, very slowly drift into blackness...

_Bring, Bring! Bring, Bring._ He grumbled and turned himself over again and rolled out of bed. He flopped on the floor with a loud thud and opened his eyes to rub the sleep out. He put his arm behind him on the bed to help himself up and one on the table beside him. The stupid damn phone keep ringing and he swore under his breathe. He walked across his room and he walked into his living room. He stopped in front of his phone and pressed the called I.D. button (so if he's a junkie he can get their number). 467-768-8345. J. DOE. He didn't recognize the name or the number so he picked up the receiver just to have a dead end. _"The son of a bitch hung up on me!"_ Victor swore at the phone and the Doe person and headed back to bed.

**_Bring, Bring! Bring, Bring!_** This time he ran to the phone. "**WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU WANT!"** He screamed into the phone, clenching to receiver.

"That's not nice, Victor. A simple, 'What do you want?' would be fine. But you have to add a swear word..." The voice said on the other line.

"You fucking call three times and you don't even answer the phone!"

"Actually, you didn't answer the phone the first time."

"Fuck you."

"You only say that because you know I'm right." The voice said.

"FUCK YOU." Victor said nice and slowly. He hung up the phone and rubbed his forehead irritably. He stood there for a minute.

A load knock on the door surprised him out of his daze and he stood there still. He heard a voice from the other side.

"Victor...that wasn't nice. I was just trying to talk to you and you hung up. Why?" It was the voice from before. Victor's blood ran cold as he slowly side-stepped toward the gun drawer.

"What do you want?" Victor yelled cautiously.

"What's this? The biggest drug dealer in the city is scared of little old me?" He paused and laughed. "Wow. You make me feel so special, Victor." Victor rolled his eyes. The fucker was right. He was the biggest drug dealer in the city. Why was he scared? He walked over to the peep hole and looked at a rather short bald man. Victor looked down. "_Good, it's locked."_

"You're not getting in here. So, you know...go away." Victor said flatly. He looked at the man one more time and turned around. As soon as he did this he heard a click from the lock and he spun around on his heels.

"Keys? What the fu-" At once the smaller man flung himself at Victor, knocking him off his feet and falling on top of him. Victor struggled with him and tried to force him off but that fucker was strong! J.Doe pulled out a long needle and with one fricken blow he got him in the arm. Victor felt the arm go on fire and he also felt the weight being lifted. His limbs felt numb and lifeless but at the same time they burnt. His mind was racing and throbbing. He felt himself being picked up and tossed almost carelessly over his shoulder and carried a small way. He felt his back hit the bed and he felt the man reach into his back pockets. He thought he heard _clanking_ of handcuffs and he was sure what they were when they were attached to his hands and ankles. There was only one thing that was going through Victors head before he drifted into sweet nothingness... His limbs felt numb and lifeless but at the same time they burnt. His mind was racing and throbbing.

_"Oh shit! I'm going to get rapped!"_


End file.
